Old Man Vacanas 
from Blue Sonoma

   

1

The old man

to whom I’m married

hits the sack again

after breakfast.

 

A black bear

out in the rain

on Blueberry Flats.

 

Is it too wet

to hibernate? The muddy creek

burgeoning.

 

By lunch, he’s up.

The sky’s no lighter – candles

with our tea.

 

Tell me, can a soul

fatten up for winter?

5

The old man who picks up the phone

does not get your message.

Call again.

 

Please call again.

 

The cats leave squirrel guts

on the Tibetan rug.

Augury I cannot read.

 

You’ve got to talk with me.

 

I scrape glistening coils

into a dust pan,

spit on drops of blood and spray ammonia.

The blood spreads into the white wool.

 

I am so sick of purring beasts.

 

Don’t tempt me, old man.

Today I have four arms

and weapons in each hand.

11

The old man

takes his choppers out

when chicken sticks to them.

 

He parks them in a glass

of blue fizz.

 

DNA from fossil bones

tells us we’re siblings to Neanderthals—

 

and the small arrangements

we make? Language, travel, art? Props

 

in a little, local, theatre of light.

jane munro is available
for readings and workshops

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